


Plaything for Monsters

by cyndrarae



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-11
Updated: 2012-08-11
Packaged: 2017-11-11 22:48:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/483714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyndrarae/pseuds/cyndrarae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The kanima seeks a master. But it’d have to be really stupid to expect its master to be any less of a monster than itself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plaything for Monsters

**Author's Note:**

> Please see warnings first. Spoilers for S2. AU after episode 210 (Fury). I understand that a Scott/Jackson pairing is not very popular but hey that's what my muses wanted to write. Hope you give it a go? :)

*******

Matt was a child. 

A broken, twisted child who’d just happened to chance upon a dragon’s egg. Or a full-grown kanima in this case. 

Under all his rage, and trauma, and relentless lust for revenge, he was still just a child. And children keep pets, not slaves. 

The kanima sought a master. What it got was Matt. But such was the curse of the kanima – it couldn’t choose who held the other end of its leash. 

All it could do – when Matt tugged – was go where it was led, bite who it was commanded to bite. Sit where it was made to sit and be forgotten until its teenaged owner had a temper tantrum again.

The one time Jackson couldn’t obey his command – that woman with an innocent (as in not a murderer yet) baby inside of her – Matt kicked him. Literally.

He waited for Jackson to lose his invincible form, then kicked and punched and whipped him with his own lacrosse stick again and again and again until it snapped in two places. 

Then there was blood, Jackson’s, obviously. And then there were tears, Matt’s… two parts rage, one part regret. Seven parts fear. Fear that his handy little attack dog would run away, or worse, turn on him.

“Shit. I’m so sorry,” he whispered into Jackson’s ear, kneeling beside the co-captain of the lacrosse team who lay curled up like a fetus on Matt’s bedroom floor. 

“It’s okay, buddy. I forgive you. It’s over now. Come here…”

The child stroked his pet’s matted blond hair with trembling fingers, mind already in overdrive to work out how to clean up this mess before Mommy and Daddy got home.

When it first began, Jackson had no inkling he’d developed an alter ego. And he may have stayed that way, blissfully unaware, if it weren’t for those two meddling idiots – Stilinski and McCall. 

As it were, he grew conscious of someone else ‘living’ inside his head… his body. He started to hear Matt’s voice in his head, see Matt’s nightmares when he closed his own eyes. Then as time passed, Jackson and the kanima started to meld into one. 

All that time lost started to come back in one huge rush. He remembered the face of each and every human he’d killed. The fact that they were all murderers (or somewhat responsible for someone’s death, temporary or otherwise) did not help. 

He silently rued the day he’d walked himself over to Derek and practically begged for it.

“It’s a curse, Jackson. Not a gift,” Scott had once said. Jackson had refused to believe him then.

And then Matt died. 

*******

 

Jackson crouched in the darkness and watched the old man hold his master’s head under water while the rest of him thrashed like a fish out of it. He felt nothing – no sadness, no fury, no remorse. Nothing. Except maybe… hope. A tiny one.

Hope to find a real master, for a change. 

In the light of the next day, Jackson would curse himself for once again wishing for all the wrong things. But that night, when Gerard held his hand out, pure evil gleaming in his eyes, the kanima did not hesitate.

“You don’t have to be afraid of anything, my friend,” the hunter whispered, before taking a glove off. “Especially me.”

In the deep recesses of his mind, the kanima quietly rejoiced. 

But Gerard Argent was not a child. Gerard Argent was driven and self-righteous.

He was also ruthless and manipulative, sadistic, and more monstrous than the kanima itself. 

He kept the beast on an actual leash, chained up in the Argent basement all night long. He showed it off to his hunter friends and apprentices, to his son who, strangely, couldn’t seem to look it in the eye. To his granddaughter – the girl it suspected it knew from somewhere – the girl who couldn’t decide if she wanted to avert her eyes or laugh like a maniac.

The kanima was bled, burnt, dissected and studied, tortured sometimes just for fun, other times for educational purposes. His screams were recorded for posterity, his scales and claws clipped and preserved in ice. Gerard got off on the incredible rush of owning this mega-powerful supernatural entity that couldn’t escape his slavery no matter what he did to it. Hell, it couldn’t even bring itself to _want_ to escape. 

But that’s not the only thing Gerard got off on.

Jackson wondered if the kanima blacked out too. If it too felt like it’d lost time when Jackson was in control. He wondered if all that transpired – in the principal’s office, in the showers after school, in the hunter’s basement when no one else was around – would ever come rushing back to the kanima too. 

He wondered if it was still rejoicing having a _real_ master. 

“Jackson, stop! Let me help you, please!” Scott had once begged. Jackson had been too proud to admit he needed it. 

Or maybe he thought he deserved it, all of it, deserved to be treated like the monster he’d practically begged to be.

And then Gerard died. 

*******

 

This time the kanima understood why it hadn’t even tried to stop Gerard from killing Matt. It was because Matt had been caught unawares. He’d taken Gerard’s pictures, but never imagined him dead. 

That’s what happened to its new master too. The grandfather of werewolf hunters had not been informed that Peter Hale was back. He too was caught unawares. 

Impossible to tell the good guys from the bad in this saga of blood and gore. The kanima shifted its golden gaze from the remains of Gerard, sliced in two with his own broadsword, to the alpha standing over them.

The werewolf raised his long, elegant hand, offering his palm like Jesus to his disciples. He smiled with such serenity at the terrible looking, scaled, tailed monster hanging from the rafters just above him. 

“What a thing of beauty you are! There’s no need to hide. Come on down, let me take a look at you.”

Shameless appeal to Jackson's vanity aside, the kanima could tell there was something broken about this one too, like Matt.

“It’s alright,” Peter whispered almost gently, “I won’t hurt you.”

It did not believe him for a second, having learnt its lesson the hard way. But what choice did it have? The kanima couldn’t survive without a master. 

Peter Hale was nowhere near self-righteous. But he was charming and possessive, and kept his promises.

He treated his slave like a precious plaything, protected it from the hunters and wolves and everyone else out there baying for its black blood. He never bled it, never chained it, never burned or tortured it. 

He just set it after Jackson’s loved ones – first Danny – which didn’t work because Danny had never ever hurt anyone, directly or indirectly. The poor boy did end up in the hospital though, with three fractures and a possibility of someday walking again.

Lydia was not so lucky.

And last but not the least, his parents. They were lawyers – of course they’d had a hand in a couple of unnatural deaths over the years. A mistrial here, an overturned conviction of a guilty man there.

Peter couldn’t have his pet tethered, emotionally or otherwise, to anyone beside himself. Absolute control, utter and complete power – that’s what his master craved. 

“You belong to me now, pet. All mine, mine alone,” Peter reminded him over and over again.

In the day, Jackson returned to himself and wailed his heart out, shattering into a million pieces with the agonizing awareness of what he’d done. Peter let the boy cry until he couldn’t cry anymore. Until the tears dried up and his voice gave out and it hurt to so much as breathe. Until he’d slashed his wrists twice and miserably watched them heal just as fast. The damned curse wouldn’t even let him die in peace. 

Peter watched, amused, smiling… waiting. Then, calmly, he gathered the exhausted boy to himself, cradling and rocking him in his arms. He carried him up to the master bedroom in the newly renovated Hale house. There, he stripped Jackson of his soiled clothes and positioned him on his stomach.

“You don’t need them, pet. You don’t need anyone but me. I’ll take care of you, forever,” Peter promised before pulling his slave’s legs apart.

He made what he called ‘love’ to the heartbroken, terror-stricken seventeen-year old who couldn’t care less for what was done to his body even if he tried. His mind shut down and his senses turned to stone, each and every one of them. 

He lost time – time that the kanima did not gain. No one did.

“They’re okay, your parents, you hear me? Hang in there, Jackson. I’m coming for you…” Scott had tried. At least, Jackson thought he had. 

It was probably just a hallucination.

And then Peter died.

*******

 

Of course no one was sure how long they could _keep_ him dead, this time. 

The kanima lingered around its ex-master’s body all night. It watched, warily, as the other two werewolves and their loud, hyperactive human friend buried him in the grounds behind the Hale house. They watched it back just as cautiously, but no one raised a hand. 

No one wanted it. 

It crept as close as it dared, feeling utterly lost and vulnerable without a master. The bigger werewolf growled at it, making it quickly scramble backwards, whining low in its throat. 

“Stop that, Derek, you’re scaring him,” the second one hissed. He looked at the kanima with this odd look in his big brown eyes. The creature didn’t know what to make of it.

“I’m scaring _him_!?!” Derek hissed back. “Someone better leash that thing right now or who knows what he’ll do.”

Scott didn’t seem to disagree. So he turned towards the human boy, who immediately dropped the bag containing Peter’s severed head to the ground and raised both his hands up in the air.

“In case you haven’t noticed, there is a pattern here. Anyone who becomes a master to the kanima – dies! Horribly! No way, dude. Not me.”

“In that case, maybe you should put your hands down,” Scott muttered under his breath. Stiles quickly complied. 

The kanima prowled in a circle around them, rumbling with rising impatience.

Scott turned his pleading eyes on Derek, who simply glowered at him. “No. This nonsense has gone on long enough, Scott. No one should have that monster at their beck and call. I say we finish it.” 

The kanima snarled, responding to the threat though a bit half-heartedly. It was Scott who came to its defense instead. “And how do you propose we do that? In case you forgot, we’ve tried. Again and again and again! He’s stronger than you and me and Isaac, and all the damn hunters put together.”

“You forgot me,” Stiles complained and was promptly ignored.

“We haven’t tried decapitation yet.”

“No!! We’re not killing Jackson and that’s that, Derek!”

“You want to be responsible for more death and destruction, fine! You take him! You claim him right now!”

The kanima crept up closer, settled back on its haunches and waited. It could hear the ragged breathing of the three men before him… feel the spades of hatred from one, morbid and mildly disgusted fascination from another. 

Whatever vibes it picked from the third one, it was unable to decipher. 

An eternity later, Scott raised his hand. The kanima could have wept in relief if it had tear glands. 

*******

 

An hour later, the infinitely frailer alter ego surfaced. Jackson looked around in a rush of disoriented panic, found himself slumped in the shotgun seat of his own car. 

“Scott? Wh-what… where are we going?”

His master turned to him and gently smiled, “Home.”

Jackson started, blinked, found his eyes tearing up when he saw the driveway they were just about ready to pull into. All these years he’d wasted chasing the ghost of his biological parents, distancing himself from his adoptive ones. The thought of them dead had made him realize how much he truly loved them. 

He sat folded in on himself, noticing the clothes he wore for the first time – cheap and ill-fitting, so not his. 

“Go on, Jackson. They haven’t seen you in days.”

“A-and why’s that?”

“You’ve been at the inter-state lacrosse championship game in Palo Alto. Which by the way, you won.”

Jackson felt the corners of his lips lifting. He couldn’t remember smiling in months. “Am I still captain?”

Scott scoffed, “Co-captain.”

He let his parents coo and fawn all over him to their heart’s content, which worried them but he didn’t notice that. He was too occupied fighting his way out of the thick cloud that still clogged up his head. 

Skipping dinner, he crawled into his bed and proceeded to shake himself apart. He felt wrung out but couldn’t sleep. The full moon up in its clear night sky taunted him. He felt disconnected, turned inside out, like he didn’t belong in his own head, his own battered body. 

He prayed for unconsciousness just so he didn’t have to think about Danny, about… Lydia. But every time he closed his eyes he went right back to Gerard’s basement, with Peter thrusting inside of him, hunters standing around him laughing. The bed-sheets were soaked in sweat as he tossed and turned and bit his lip to keep from screaming, on the outside.

A cool fall breeze washed over his body, as a window was slid open from the outside. He heard someone struggling not so stealthily to climb into his room. Jackson immediately got out of bed and fell to his knees, prostrating himself. 

Indescribable relief coursed through every fiber of his being, and Scott hadn’t even found his feet yet.

“Jackson? Oh no, just… jeez,” Scott sighed. 

He gripped the other boy by his arms and lifted him up to his feet. “Don’t ever do that. Th-that’s an o-order. You have to follow one of those, right?”

Jackson wanted to smirk, his new master was not all that bright, but he’d do. He jerked his head once in what he hoped was a nod – couldn’t be sure, his body didn’t quite seem like his anymore.

“You’re… wet. Is that blood?”

Jackson frowned, not understanding the urgency he heard in his master’s voice.

“Answer me, Jackson.”

“N-no, sweat.”

“Jeez,” Scott exhaled in relief. “And you’re trembling. Come on, back to bed, right now!”

“You’re enjoying this.”

Scott froze. Jackson couldn’t believe he just said that. “I’m sorry. I don’t know wha-… please don’t leave me…”

The werewolf’s gaze softened, with pity maybe. 

“It’s okay. To be honest, I _am_ , just a tiny little bit,” he shrugged sheepishly and smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. 

Jackson was led to his bed, but then stopped and turned. “Wait, you can’t sleep in those things.”

He closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable touches in forbidden places that never came. Scott changed him into a set of clean, comfortable sweats without batting an eyelid, clinically, efficiently, like he’d done it a hundred times before. 

“Sleep, Jackson,” Scott whispered, stretching himself out on the carpeted floor beside the bed, worlds apart from where he’d bundled up and settled his slave. 

“Didn’t you wan-… is there something I…”

“Shh… you’re safe now. Just go to sleep.”

_It’s okay, buddy. I forgive you. It’s over now._

_You don’t have to be afraid of anything, my friend. Especially me._

_You don’t need them, pet. You don’t need anyone but me. I’ll take care of you, forever._

Jackson believed him, silently wondering if he would live to regret it someday like he had three times before. But after willingly forfeiting his freedom, what choice did he have? So he did what any good slave would.

He obeyed.

Deep in the recesses of his tortured mind, the servile monster smirked. It had seen in Scott’s eyes what its fragile human alter ego hadn’t. Scott was a child still. Scott was self-righteous. And Scott was dangerously possessive. He was the best of them, he was the worst of them too. 

The kanima curled its proverbial tail around its new _true_ master, and settled in for the night. 

 

*******

 

 **A/N:** Please let me know what you think?


End file.
